


No Stars

by theyra (argaerwen)



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora understands First Ones' writing but not Spanish, Angst, Catra (She-Ra) in a Suit, F/F, Princess Prom (She-Ra), Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27380710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argaerwen/pseuds/theyra
Summary: Adora and Catra at the dance, but something isn't right.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic! It was inspired by Rebekah Del Rio's song, "No Stars." Listen/watch here: https://youtu.be/njloaV9eE7I
> 
> I have four chapters planned, so if your interest is piqued, please stay tuned!

Adora becomes conscious of her body and of the music slowly and at the same time.

She feels it first in her feet, her weight shifting over them languidly. She realizes that she isn't wearing her boots, but light sandals. Her boots feel like anchors, weighty and reassuring, but in these she feels more exposed.

Then she feels it in her cheek. Her face is turned to one side, resting, the pressure of her dance partner's shoulder falling comfortably just underneath the bone. She's relaxed--or, she becomes aware of having been relaxed. She wants to linger with this feeling even as it begins to recede.

Then she feels it in her hands. Her left hand is holding onto something soft but hardened underneath; her right is curled into a loose fist over her heart. Her knuckles rest against the chest of her dance partner. As the feeling of consciousness reaches her right hand, she opens her hand and turns it, intending to lift herself up and look at her partner. But there's a moment when her hand is spread flat on her dance partner's chest, before her head is raised, before her eyes are open, and she takes in her partner first through the feeling of that heartbeat against her palm. Her hand knows this heart. Adora is dancing with Catra.

Their hips are swaying, together, slowly, as the band plays. Adora takes it in: had she rested her cheek on Catra's shoulder--and dozed? If so then surely only for a second. As the feeling of consciousness fills the rest of her body (arms relaxed, lungs cool and full, stomach soft and warm, knees weak, oh no), Adora lifts her head and searches Catra's eyes, trying to reconnect with reality. 

Catra gazes back at her serenely, a soft look on her face. She smiles, and Adora feels the warmth in her stomach kindled. She tightens her grip on Catra's bicep and leans away, realizing that she's wearing a look of concern.

"Hey Adora," Catra says in a low voice, as if welcoming her back to herself. Adora's face softens. She brushes her thumb over a button on Catra's shirt. The fabric is a berry red that almost matches Adora's dress. She studies her dance partner. Catra's black bowtie hangs untied and open at her throat. The gray-brown shock of her hair frames her ears and her shoulders, but it's her mask that frames her face. Her mask...

"Hold me," Catra whispers, pulling Adora closer against her, "hold me, hold me." Adora feels her stomach flip, the heat in her stomach radiating out into a flush. Catra slides her hand and arm across Adora's lower back, circling her in. Her other hand is resting lightly on Adora's hip. Adora runs her hand up and holds onto Catra's shoulder. Holding her feels like--well, home. But something else feels... off.

Adora glances past Catra. They are dancing together at the edge of the dance floor. Most of the other dancers are further inside the great open hall and nearer the band. Across the distance, Adora watches as the singer draws her hands up, lightly touching the microphone stand. As she does it, Adora draws a deep breath in, slowly, and though it's only a breath it feels like it takes an hour.

Catra lifts her hand from Adora's hip and lays it softly on her cheek, tilting her head to refocus her on Catra. In a low voice, Catra says, "Don't be afraid." 

"Catra," Adora says, her voice unexpectedly thick with emotion. She can't find the next words she wants to say. The feeling is too expansive to name. Her chest and throat feel constricted, looking into Catra's eyes (one yellow, one blue). She feels her brow fall, and start to furrow, as she sees that Catra's expression is missing something Adora is so used to seeing in every face. This time, _this time_ , Catra is looking at her without expectation.

She feels so secure in this moment, so braced by Catra's hands and arms and hips (gulp) but at the same time she also feels she could fly apart in all directions--just, dissolve into molecules. Adora has been almost exhausted by being the one that everyone's counting on for so long. But the look on Catra's face is not one of need. Catra's smile darkens playfully and she leans toward Adora. The look is empty of need, but it's full of desire.

They kiss. Adora's eyes close but it feels like they roll back in her head, as if the pleasure is blinding. Catra kisses her slowly, and it feels like a first kiss, Adora's giddiness heightened by the steady six-beat rhythm of the band. Her grip on Catra's bicep softens, and her hand slides a little ways down Catra's sleeve. The fabric of her suitcoat is dark maroon. When they part, Adora opens her eyes, looking down and trying to suppress her smile. She slides her other hand down from Catra's shoulder, smoothing the notch lapel between her thumb and fingers.

Again Adora searches for something to say. She hears the voice of the singer reverberate over the dance floor, but the woman is singing now in a language Adora doesn't understand. The feeling that something is off returns to her, but now it also feels as if she can't remember why. 

Adora looks past Catra again, to the singer, who seems to be looking back at Adora. "What is she saying?" Adora's voice is mistrustful, distracted with concern, and Catra sighs a shallow sigh, but then her ear twitches back to listen.

Catra translates the lyrics for Adora: "I saw, in your eyes... I saw... the stars." Catra’s voice quirks at the end of the translation, a faint trace of panic. Adora's blood runs cold. She looks into Catra's face for some sign, but Catra's looking back at her with concern now, too. Adora drops her hands, but Catra catches Adora's right with her left and holds it. Adora turns and walks out of the open hall onto the balcony. She doesn't see the look of longing Catra gives her, the steely sense of hope that this time, _this time_ , Adora won't leave her behind. Adora strides out with purpose, but she does hold onto Catra's hand, pulling her along. At the balustrade they look out together on the night sky, inky black and almost purple, as if deeply bruised. But the sky is also on fire.

Alight. With stars.

The blazing sky is unlike anything either of them have ever seen. Adora feels stunned. The sight makes her heart pound, and she stares, her mouth parting as she exhales heavily, as if the wind's been knocked out of her.

The stars are beautiful, but their beauty is terrible, overwhelming. Adora rips her gaze away to look to Catra, who is already looking to Adora, fear knit into her eyebrows. Their joined hands are reassuring, but not enough to reclaim the feeling of belonging to this place, this moment. 

It feels like a memory, but somehow misrecalled. It feels like time is out of joint. And overwhelmingly it feels _sad_ , like Adora is losing something... something she already lost, or never had.

The voice of the singer soars. "Pero ya no hay..."

Catra shakes her head, issuing a negative, a refusal of this rupture.

"Catra..." Adora's voice, riddled with uncertainty.

The singer: "...ya no hay estrellas..." Adora shuts her eyes tightly against the disorientation.

"Hey, Adora," Catra's voice, ticking up with urgency. Something shifts, darkens. Adora opens her eyes.

"No stars." The singer repeats the line tenderly. "No stars, no stars..."

The sky is dark again, lit only dimly by Etheria's moons. Adora turns back toward the great hall and the singer, lifting her left hand to Catra's shoulder as if to shepherd her. The dance floor is dark, and everyone--everyone is gone but the singer. Even the band--but somehow the music keeps playing as she sings, "No stars..."


	2. Chapter 2

Adora floods with the feeling that something's wrong, and with the familiar conviction that she must put it right. She shifts her weight to start toward the singer, but when Catra doesn't budge, it stops her. "Catra, I have to..."

"There's nothing you can do, Adora."

Adora shifts her gaze back from the singer to Catra's face, trying to read her expression. Her left hand rests on Catra's arm; her right hand holds Catra's hand. Why does she need to go anywhere, do anything else but be here?

A wave of resolve. "But, where are they? Where... is everyone?" The feeling of uncertainty only makes her more determined to act--not that she has a clue what to do.

Catra closes her eyes, wincing. She squeezes Adora's hand a little tighter. "Adora, there's no one here to rescue." Her eyes open and Catra draws her gaze up to meet Adora's again. "Only me. I'm the only one here." Catra sounds sad in a way that doesn't make sense to Adora, and it gives her pause.

"But the, the band. The other guests, the dancing..." As her thought trails off, Adora goes slack, a prickling feeling coming over her as she reconciles it in her mind. "The stars, Catra!" The urgency in her voice topples over itself as she takes in the calm on Catra's face. Adora feels a sudden spasm of grief. The feelings of peace and security she had a moment ago come crashing down, not even undermined but simply revoked.

"None of this is real." It's not a question; it's a description she hazards, as if she knows Catra can't deny it.

Catra can see it, the pain Adora is feeling. It doesn't look like pain, though. When Adora wears it, it looks stubborn, almost resentful, even--possibly--regretful. "That's not true." The sentence comes out of Catra's mouth soft, without contentiousness. A counter, but not a contradiction. Catra holds Adora's gaze. She draws Adora's body back toward her, pulling her hand around Catra's back and depositing it there. Catra is conscious of the cold out on the balcony. Through her jacket, she feels the warmth of Adora's palm.

She trails her claws very lightly up Adora's arm, and then grips Adora's bare shoulder. Catra's face is full of an intensity that surprises Adora with its familiarity. "This is real, Adora." Her hand slides from Adora's shoulder to the nape of her neck. Faintly, Adora feels Catra's claws as her hand slides up to cradle Adora's head. 

When Catra kisses her again, Adora tightens her arm around Catra's lower back, and then her left hand leaves Catra's shoulder and lays against Catra's cheek. Her fingers find Catra's jawbone, her thumb brushes up toward Catra's ear, and all the urgency Adora had a moment ago finds a channel in this kiss. Catra's tail whispers against her leg and she thrills, shifting her weight but holding Catra close.

Then the music stops. And Adora stops. She looks into Catra's eyes. The sense of responsibility is plain on her face. Catra sees it, and now she knows: it won't be this time after all.

"She--she should be here." Adora blurts out the words, a little panicky, not entirely sure who she is referring to. "I--I need her." Then, with more clarity, "I need my sword. Come on," she says, her voice full of determination, taking Catra by the hand and striding toward the singer, standing silent and unsettling at the microphone in a pool of stage light.

"Adora, there's no point!" Catra's resistance is building.

"Hey!" Adora shouts across the closing distance. Her shout is full of a confidence and certaintythat Adora doesn't actually feel, and she can hear it in the next thing she says: "I need my sword." It's a demand that's meant to sound assertive, but her voice wavers, sounding small and vulnerable. The singer doesn't respond. She is looking at Adora, but her look is wistful, maybe even _piteous_ , and just as Adora feels the kind of anger rising that might incite her to speak rudely to a coat check attendant, Catra tugs on her hand to turn her around--putting Adora's back to the mysterious singer.

"Whatever this is--she should be here," Adora insists before Catra can speak, her eyes fogged with a sense of possible danger. "I have to find her!"

"Adora, who are you talking about?"

Her eyes fill with tears. Of frustration--she doesn't exactly know the answer. But then it comes out of her mouth anyway. "She-Ra!" she blurts out. Her tears turn to grief. She does know the answer, and she knows Catra will be hurt by it.

And Catra is, but she shows no sign of it. Instead she looks weary, like they have reached a familiar impasse, a problem there's no point in trying to solve.

"Adora," Catra starts to say, stepping back, raising her hands as if to raise a question, gesturing around the dark and empty great hall. Then her hands drop in resignation, and she closes her eyes and shakes her head, frustration rising. "You don't _have_ to do anything! You're the most powerful person on the planet! You can do whatever you _want_."

Adora simply deflects Catra's argument. "I have to get answers, Catra." Adora starts to turn back toward the singer.

Catra seizes her shoulder and angrily turns her back. "Adora, she won't have answers!--she's probably just some stupid hologram! We're not even _at_ Princess Prom. It's been _years_ since we were--at Princess Prom." The heat goes out of Catra's voice as she delivers those last three words. "It was a long time ago."

"Then where is everybody? What happened to the stars? I have to find out, I have to--I have to _fix it!_ " She nearly spits the final phrase, sounding both indignant and afraid.

Catra's anger rises like a wave, overwhelming her. "It's so _like you_ to do this," she scoffs. "You--you can't even relax _in a dream!_ "

Catra's words hit Adora like a ton of bricks.

Catra steps forward, almost pressing against Adora, and she breathes in forceful, shallow breaths. Outrage radiates off her body. Adora simply watches her, stunned, certain that Catra is right, uncertain of what that must mean; no longer sensing danger but not feeling relieved, either. It's only--it's nothing but a dream.

Then it happens. Catra grabs her, not gently, laying one hand on the small of her back and the other over her ponytail and against her neck. Catra pulls her into a kiss. It's not nothing like the first one, on the dance floor, which was sublime; but it is different. This time it's tense, even aggressive. Adora is already overwhelmed. She lays her hand very softly on Catra's hip, catching the hem of Catra's jacket in her palm. It steadies her but she does not relax. Catra's right.

And then it's over. Catra releases her, dropping her hands as she steps back and then pivoting hard on her heel. Adora stares at her back, taking in the details of Catra's suit: the tailoring around her shoulders and her tail (which whips down impatiently), the way her rolled cuffs show the muscles contracted in her forearms as she clenches her hands into fists. Catra is walking away. Adora looks at the thick profusion of Catra's hair, and at the tips of her ears just visible behind it. _Where will you even go?_ she thinks, but does not say, as Catra stalks off into the empty darkness, and disappears. 


End file.
